Chapter 4

It turned out only one of us had been counting the years.

I cut into the cake and took a bite.

It was too sweet. Cloyingly, nauseously sweet.

I sat there for a long time without moving.

Then I threw the cake and all the food into the trash.

At eleven that night, Dylan came home.

He looked exhausted, but there was a brightness in his eyes.

"Lily, Wendy's photos came out incredible. The investors are thrilled. They've decided to expand her solo exhibition."

He had completely forgotten what day it was.

I sat at my desk, organizing my work files.

"Congratulations."

Dylan noticed the food in the trash and frowned.

"That's all you ate tonight? Didn't I tell you to get yourself something decent?"

"I didn't stand you up on purpose. The situation with Wendy was unusual. It's her first time carrying a project on her own. The pressure got to her."

He reached out to hold me. I stepped back.

"Lily, do you really have to protest like this? Just shutting me out?"

"I already said I'd make it up to you tomorrow."

I turned to face him.

"I'm not protesting."

"I genuinely mean it. Congratulations."

Dylan suddenly turned irritable.

"Fine, you're not protesting." He let out a cold laugh. "Then I won't bother making it up to you either. Since you clearly don't care."

He turned and walked toward the study.

The door slammed shut behind him.

I stared at the closed door, then pulled out my phone and opened an apartment listing app.

I scrolled for a while. My finger stopped on a city two thousand kilometers away.

Southport.

There was a magazine there that I'd always wanted to work for.

Over the next few days, Dylan practically lived at his studio.

He was in the final push before his photography exhibition.

On Friday afternoon, Dylan's assistant called me.

"Lily, Dylan's stomach is really acting up. He's sweating through it and still won't go to the doctor. Could you maybe make some oatmeal and bring it over?"

I almost said no, but then I thought about the empty pill box in his drawer. I went into the kitchen without a word.

Last time, I told myself.

I pushed open the studio door to a flurry of activity.

I carried the insulated container straight to Dylan's private room.

The door wasn't fully closed. There was a gap.

I was about to push it open when I saw what was inside.

Wendy was standing in front of a full-length mirror in a deep burgundy gown, turning slowly in a circle.

Dylan was sitting nearby, his face pale, his eyes soft.

"Does it look good?" Wendy asked, glancing back at him.

"It looks beautiful." Dylan smiled. "That color really suits your complexion."

My breath caught.

That dress. Dylan had bought it last month while he was away on a work trip.

He'd sent me a photo at the time and said he'd seen it and immediately thought of me. Said he was buying it as an early anniversary gift.

But after he came home, the dress had never appeared.

I thought he'd forgotten about it.

Apparently, it had just found someone else to wear it.

"But, didn't Dylan buy this for Lily originally?" Wendy looked down, her voice uneasy.

Dylan rubbed his temple, his voice dropping.

"You need it for your audition today, so just wear it once. I'll buy her a new one afterward. She won't make a big deal out of this."

I took a slow breath and pushed the door open.

Wendy's face went white when she saw me.

"Lily, let me explain. I'm only trying it on."

Dylan froze too. A flash of panic crossed his eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

I set the insulated container on the table.

"Your assistant said your stomach was hurting."

"It's nothing serious. Sorry for making you come all this way."